


In Remembrance

by Woofemus



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 13:32:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14450316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woofemus/pseuds/Woofemus
Summary: For a Blade, a lifetime of memories are fleeting. Brighid reconciles with losing them all the time.





	In Remembrance

When Brighid woke, all she knew was her own name and the whipswords she held in her hand.

“The Jewel of Mor Ardain is back,” someone had spoken reverently, she remembered.

The Jewel of Mor Ardain, the title bestowed upon Brighid before she even knew of anything beyond her own name.

What had it meant?

She didn’t know.

Within days of her awakening, she learned several things: that her Driver was Mòrag Ladair, that Mòrag was the Special Inquisitor of Mor Ardain, that Mor Ardain was the name of the Empire she had awakened to, that the Emperor was failing in his health, that the young boy named Niall was his son and was his successor, and that Mòrag was his daughter.

After all the details finally began to sink in, the Emperor called for her.

“Now that you’ve learned more about the world of today, I believe it is time I return something to you,” he said as he led her down a corridor she didn’t recognize.

The Emperor walked slowly, his breathing hard as he struggled to push himself, to keep on walking. Brighid patiently followed behind him, mindful of her own steps.

He brought her to a room with shelves that towered over them, every inch of space filled with books. The sheer volume of everything made her let out an involuntary gasp. This room… the royal archives, then? Why would he bring her here?

Brighid walked into the room slowly, as if she wasn’t trying to disturb the books slumbering inside. All the knowledge that was waiting in this room… idly, Brighid wondered that if she started now, if she would even be able to finish everything before her Driver grew to an old age.

Unknown to her, the Emperor watched her reaction, amusement in his eyes as he watched the Jewel of Mor Ardain look upon the room with awe.

Brighid turned back to him, caught his expression, and had the grace to blush. “My apologies, your Majesty, I was simply…”

“It is no worry, Brighid. You are always welcome in this room. The records have always said that you were a Blade in pursuit of knowledge when she wasn’t busy with her duties.”

“... ah.” Brighid didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t know whether it was true. But, with everything she felt right now, perhaps it _was_ true. She wanted to spend several days in here to pour over the books.

“Perhaps I should ask Mòrag to spend some time with you here as well. Ever since being Special Inquisitor, she’s not had the time to rest… this would be a good bonding experience for both of you, I believe,” he said.

Brighid paused. “Mò—ah, excuse me—is Lady Mòrag not busy with her own duties?”

“She’s your Driver now, one of her duties is to learn how… to wield you.”

“... yes, you’re right.”

The Emperor smiled warmly. Brighid could feel the affection he had for his daughter. “Mòrag… has grown up to be a fine person. She’s exceeded my expectations… far beyond what I could hope for…”

 _But she was not the next in line_ , that much Brighid had gathered in the short few days she’d been alive.

The Emperor closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, long and tired.

“But that is enough about Mòrag. I could go on, but I am here for something else...”

The Emperor turned away from her, walking down one of the shelves. Brighid followed after him, unsure whether she was meant to stay where she was, but given the way he walked, she wanted to stay by his side.

She followed him to the other end of the room, to where the shelves ended, to where a single desk sat at the very end. It was a nondescript table, but Brighid knew there had to be more to it, especially given how elaborate and ornate everything else was. The Emperor reached into his robes and took out a single key, larger than his own hand. He unlocked one of the drawers of the desk, and pulled out a book.

“Do you recognize this?” he asked as he held it out.

Before Brighid was even aware of herself, her hand was already reaching out for it. Her fingers nearly brushed against the cover before she startled, quickly bringing her hand back to her side. That… that was strange. The Emperor didn’t say anything, but Brighid knew he was watching her, studying her. This book had relevance, but _what_ sort of relevance? And, the more Brighid looked at it, the more…

“I… I don’t,” Brighid finally admitted. It… unsettled her, how there was a strange familiarity to the book that she couldn’t place it. She had no memories, and yet, this book brought out… a curious oddness, as if it was _begging_ for her to remember.

Remember what? What could she even remember? All she knew was her name.

“I suppose it really is true that Blades lose their memory,” he said, surprised. The Emperor looked down at the book, staring at it, as if he could gleam the secrets within. Brighid waited patiently, wondering what he meant by showing her the book. Finally, he looked up, holding it out for her.

“This,” he spoke in a low voice, “is your journal.”

So shocked she was that she opened her eyes to stare down at the book. “My… _my_ journal?”

_Mine?_

“Yes,” the Emperor answered simply.

Brighid reached forward once again. Her fingers brushed against the cover.

A jolt shot through her.

What… what was this feeling? There was a heavy pressure bearing down upon her, a… feeling of… dread? Anticipation? Excitement? She didn’t know.

With both hands, Brighid took the journal from the Emperor’s hands. She opened the book to the first page.

_To the me of the future that will read this,_

_All that is written in here is hopefully authentic, written by my own, or your own now, hand. As Blades, we do not keep our memories. It may be foolish to write these memories down, it may be foolish to hope that our journal remains intact in our slumber…_

_Still, I hope the search to find myself remains within you as well._

Brighid held her breath as she read. This… was surely her writing, her own thoughts… everything written in here… and yet, she had no recollection of it.

But every word she read, every turn of the page, even the feeling of the book itself…

This was _her_.

“Would you like for some privacy?” the Emperor asked softly. Brighid looked up at him, so overcome with shock that she’d forgotten he was still there. She nodded, unable to muster words to come to her tongue in that moment. The Emperor bowed his head, gestured toward one side of the room where there sat a chair next to a window, and walked away. Though the carpet upon the floor helped muffle the sounds, Brighid still barely heard him walk away.

Somehow, her legs led her to the chair the Emperor had shown her. She wasn’t even aware of sitting down, still staring at the journal within her hands. Her hands trembled. Then—

She flipped through the journal. It was tempting to stop, to read every single entry, but there was only one page she was interested in. She finally found it not far from the end of the book, almost fitting for what she was looking for.

The last entry.

Brighid steadied herself, and began to read.

_My time is finally drawing to an end. The Emperor spends most of his time sleeping, opening his eyes for only a few short minutes a day before closing them once more._

_He lived a long life, and will pass away in his sleep._

_As his Blade, meeting a peaceful end like that is all I can ask for._

_I do not know when I will be able to write, nor do I know if this journal will still be passed down. It is my highest hopes that it does, but I can never be too certain after I return to my core. Things are always so uncertain after the death of an emperor..._

_I pray for my journal to reach the me in the next lifetime, I know how curious I must get about myself. But if I have no knowledge of this journal, then I cannot miss what I never had._

_Even if I may no longer watch her for now, may Mor Ardain continue to prosper in my absence._

The words stopped there. The final words she had written, the last words she had left for herself, left for the her who stood here in this moment with her own journal left in her own hands, left for the her who currently knew nothing about herself.

Even in spite of her own natural heat, Brighid felt… cold.

With little other clues, Brighid couldn’t even begin to start with what her past self was feeling when she wrote this entry. Optimism that she would wake once more? Pride for the life she had lived? Resignation for the inevitable end of her life?

Brighid looked out the window. Her hands absently traced over the unknown sigil on the cover of her book, as if she had done this very motion thousands of times before. Perhaps she had. Was muscle memory another thing that Blades lost, or did her body remember better than her mind?

Her hand continued to brush against the cover of the book, perfectly following the lines of the flames adorning it.

There were only three certainties Brighid knew in her life right now: that she was a Blade, that Mòrag was her Driver, and that she would return to her core crystal when Mòrag died.

Brighid looked down at her journal, flipped open the book to the first page, and began to read.

* * *

The Praetorium was a wonderful place, as always.

There were very few chances for Brighid to enjoy the sights of the Praetorium as she was doing now. For all her thoughts, for all her troubles, for all her worries, a calmness always seemed to wash over her whenever she came.

After meeting with the Praetor, they were left to their own activities for the rest of the day. Mòrag had gone to report to the consulate of Mor Ardain and told Brighid she didn’t need to follow her for a simple task. Thus, Brighid found herself wandering into the courtyard.

With the evening sky encroaching upon them, there were few people here at this hour save for the guards. Brighid thought about wandering into the cafe; after all the traveling they’d done, it would be nice to rest with a cup of fresh tea, and she was sure Mòrag would have the same thought after her meeting. Or, she had seen some artworks on the way to the sanctorium, perhaps she could find something for Mòrag...

But someone else caught her eye first.

There, standing near one of the walls at the furthest end away from Brighid, was Fan la Norne, the Goddess of the Praetorium.

Of the very few times Brighid was privileged to set foot in Indol, she’d see Fan from far away. Always serene, like very few things could bother her, but Fan was always humble rather than condescending. Hm.

Brighid, unable to help her curiosity, walked closer, making sure to clack her heels against the marble floor to announce her presence for the Goddess.

Fan turned around, the smile ready on her face, before her eyes widened. “Brighid, the Jewel of Mor Ardain. How blessed the day must be, to be in the presence of one as prestigious as yourself.” She bowed her head slightly. Brighid returned the gesture.

“Such kind words from the Goddess of the Praetorium herself. Even the Jewel of the Empire is no match for you.”

Fan smiled, eyes crinkled in amusement, an expression Brighid returned. She turned away seconds later, looking up at the wall in front of them. Brighid followed her gaze, taking in the painting before her. It was an impressive work of art, so beautiful that mere words couldn’t describe the wonder it gave her.

And… another feeling as well—

“This mural is of the creation of Alrest,” Fan explained, her voice soft.

“... ah?” Brighid scrutinized the painting once more. Perhaps, maybe the feeling she felt right now was a sense of nostalgia, of a memory tugging at the corner of her mind. But she knew, it was only wishful thinking. She felt awe for the magnificence of the painting, and nothing else.

“You were alive back then, too, weren’t you?” Fan asked.

“I suppose, in a sense, yes,” Brighid answered, before realizing something odd within Fan’s words struck her. “Wait… ‘too?’ Were you also alive back then?” She hadn’t heard of that, or at least, her journal hadn’t mentioned that. Although, now that she began to recall, there _had_ been a Blade described in her journal that seemed eerily close to Fan, but her name had been—

For a reason indiscernible to Brighid, Fan froze in place, the smile falling from her mouth. Conflicting emotions played out across Fan’s face. Brighid worried, fearing she might have said something wrong, but Fan began to speak.

“I… I _know_ I was, but…” she frowned, eyes suddenly faraway. “When I try to think of this time, there is… sometimes, I feel a tugging at the far reaches of my mind, like a memory is _trying_ to make itself known to me. Yet, when I try to focus, it eludes me.”

Fan continued to look faraway, as if she staring elsewhere that Brighid couldn’t see. When she finally met Brighid’s eyes, Brighid almost shivered at the haunted look inside them. “Do… do you feel the same way too? They say Blades cannot remember, but… but what if… _what if…_ ” Fan shook her head, the corners of lips twitching downward in her frustration.

“Do you feel as if you are trying to remember a piece of yourself that you’ve forgotten? Is…” Brighid waited for her to continue, but she didn’t, and Fan’s gaze dropped.

Brighid felt her heart pounding. Fan’s words… they resonated something deep within Brighid. She wanted to speak, but no words to come to her, not right now, not when her being felt shaken down to the depths of her core.

Sometimes, if Brighid was in a whimsical enough mood to try, she’d try to imagine the very scenes written out in her journal. If she was creative enough, she could pretend she was remembering some long forgotten memory buried deep within her core, remembering faces and places that she might have once known. She would remember them… but she would never know who they truly were.

A memory tugging at the edge of her mind, like a word she was trying to remember at the tip of her tongue…

She felt _none_ of those.

“No,” Brighid answered, “I don’t have that feeling at all.”

“... I see.” Fan turned away from Brighid, staring back up at the painting once more.

“I wonder, what it is that I’m missing,” Fan whispered, whispered so quietly that Brighid didn’t know whether she meant to hear. She turned back to the painting instead, staring up at it, wondering if, once, in a time long past, this was a familiar sight to her.

Blades didn’t remember their past lives, and no matter how strong Brighid was, she, too, was no exception.

* * *

Trying to corner Mythra off from the rest of the group (and away from Mòrag’s curious gaze) served to be harder than it appeared. Somehow, she managed, pulling Mythra away from the group.

“Talk amongst old friends,” Brighid had said, to the incredulous looks of everyone else. She smiled then, and Mòrag coughed into her hands and told everyone to tend to the fire. It’d been Pyra at the time, but when Brighid turned back to look at her, Mythra had taken her place, and was now also eyeing her suspiciously.

“What is it?” Mythra asked immediately once they were alone. Brighid was tempted to make a comment about Mythra being too brusque but she had come here for answers, not a fight.

“I wanted to ask you something,” she started.

“Obviously,” Mythra said, crossly, but a look came over her. She sighed, and tried to soften her expression, looking at least… less irritated. It was an attempt, and Brighid was in a nice enough mood to acknowledge it. “So? What is it?”

Brighid felt the urge to retort a remark about patience but held back her tongue. She didn’t need to get into an argument here, and they could both be civil, even for a moment. “How was I like, back then?” she asked instead.

“Hah?” Mythra didn’t look happy about being asked that. “W-why do you want to know that for?”

“Because,” Brighid said. “Because… I want to know.”

“... it’s not always good to be stuck in the past, you know.”

“Funny who I should hear that from,” Brighid immediately retorted. Mythra scowled at her.

They both stared at each other, unwilling to back down. Even if Brighid had come here for answers, if Mythra wanted to be obtuse about it, then Brighid would be too. Eventually, though, it was Mythra who looked away with a shake of her head.

“... we used to argue a lot like this too, in the past,” she said with a small laugh. “Funny _that_ didn’t change even if you aren’t...” Mythra didn’t finish her sentence, but Brighid understood.

“How you were back then, though, it’s…” Mythra made a face, no doubt stuck on trying to explain herself. She’d never been the most articulate with her words, Brighid remembered her journal mentioning. “You’re still… the same, but there’s all these little differences within you that make you so different from the Brighid I knew back then.”

“Then, would you say that I’m still the same person that I was back then?” Brighid asked.

Mythra pushed her lips together. “I… I don’t think I could say. You’re… you _are_ different, but you’re also… the same person. I know that feels like a cop-out answer but that’s what I feel about it.”

“Ah,” Brighid could only say, for lack of anything else to say. She felt… disappointed, but that was to be as expected. Mythra still had her memories, but she’d been asleep for the last five hundred years. To remember every exact detail, even Brighid would have been amazed if Mythra could.

But still, very little of Brighid’s own questions about herself had been answered.

“You know, though,” Mythra started. Brighid looked up at her, and nearly startled when she found Mythra with a smirk on her face. “I do have to say, you’re _much_ more stubborn than I remember you being.”

“Stubborn?” Brighid’s brow knit together. She didn’t know whether Mythra meant that as a compliment or an insult. Considering Mythra, it probably meant the latter.

“Well, look at your Driver _now_.” Mythra shrugged her shoulders. “They say Blades often take the personalities of their Drivers.”

Oh. Now everything was starting to make sense. “True,” Brighid could only say, a small smile tugging on her lips as she thought about Mòrag.

“Look at you, actually agreeing with me,” Mythra said, the beginnings of a smug smile on her face. Brighid wanted to scoff, there was no denying Mythra’s words. In fact…

“Blade and Driver are meant to be one in body and soul, right?”

The smile dropped from Mythra’s face as she stared at Brighid, surprised. “I… I was the one who said those words to you.”

“I found them written in my journal. It looks like they resonated with my old self far more than you’ve realized.”

“... huh. Given all the time you spent away from your Driver back then, I didn’t think it would have mattered much to you.”

“... perhaps that was me, back then. To think about me doing that now…” Brighid shook her head. She didn’t even want to imagine it.

Mythra laughed, a sound Brighid didn’t expect to come from her. Mythra was smiling at her, and for a moment, Brighid felt like while Mythra was looking at her, she wasn’t looking at _her_.

Who was the Brighid that Mythra was remembering?

… did Brighid want to know about her?

“But, I’m glad, you know?” Mythra spoke up suddenly.

“... glad?” Of all the things for Mythra to say, hearing something like… that, seemed… strange.

“I think… one of a Blade’s greatest moments of their life is when Driver and Blade can trust each other completely. You used to always be so distant from your Driver, both physically and emotionally. That’s strange for a Blade, don’t you think so?”

“But wasn’t it natural, for someone like me? If my Driver were the Emperor, he could hardly be expected to travel.”

“Yeah, well.” Mythra waved her hand dismissively, like Brighid’s previous Drivers being a ruler of an empire were only just an insignificant detail. “You know what I mean.”

Brighid had a retort ready, but Mythra continued speaking before she could let it loose. “So what I mean is… think about it now. Would you rather remain separated from Mòrag, then? Would you rather she stay at the capital and guard Emperor Niall while you travel with us?”

… Mòrag, staying at the capital? To travel with the Aegis and her group… without Mòrag?

Perhaps, before everything had happened, before they were inexplicably drawn into the bigger threat overtaking Alrest because Mòrag had decided to let Rex free than chase him, Brighid might have considered the idea. Mòrag was important to Mor Ardain, and Brighid was strong enough on her own.

From all the entries written in her journal, she had always been bonded to the Emperor of Mor Ardain, or someone of importance that hadn’t been allowed to travel out of Mor Ardain. It had always been her, working alone, away from her Driver.

But, now, she couldn't imagine that. Even her brief stint in Gormott, forced away from Mòrag to watch over the province, had been… almost intolerable.

Brighid pressed a hand to her core crystal, feeling its warmth underneath her fingertips. Her very core burned hotter than any part of her, and she remembered the day when Mòrag had reached forward and touched it without any hint of hesitation.

“I do not want to be separated from Mòrag,” Brighid finally said, her voice soft. With that admission, she let out a deep breath, relief filling the worry she felt earlier. And yet, she still felt… unsettled. There was… still something else underneath, another thing bothering her that she couldn’t quite place. Under her fingers, her core crystal burned hotter, searing almost. To Brighid, she felt nothing of its warmth.

“Then, there you go,” Mythra said with a laugh, not realizing Brighid’s inner distress. “You were always so distant from your Driver, back then, and you probably were with all of them. But, it's different now, isn't it? I think that’s the biggest difference between back then and now. So what’s the point of dwelling on the past?” Mythra sounded incredulous, like she couldn’t believe that Brighid was _still_ stuck on this. But Brighid had to know, Brighid… Brighid needed...

“I know that!” Brighid snapped, unable to help herself. “But everything written in here… they are all sides of myself! Sides of myself that I won’t understand! But this is still _me_! And how can I ever truly understand that about myself?! To be reborn, to become a different person with each awakening, how… how must I reconcile these parts of myself together?”

If Brighid was given the chance to remember all her past lives, would she take it? She knew that could never happen, but if, by chance, that miracle existed, would, as she was now, take that chance?

… she didn’t know. That she couldn’t decide, that she was torn between the two choices, that she even contemplated something like this…

Brighid wondered what that said about her. Her memories, even the ones written down in her journal… were they really so precious?

Yes, of course they were. How could she think otherwise?

Then, why was she meant to lose them all?

The thought that she would one day, forget about everything that happened in this life, that she would forget about all the wonderful things she experienced only in this lifetime, that she would one day forget all about Mòrag…

It was terrifying.

Mythra, surprisingly, had remained cool even during Brighid’s outburst. She was composed, staring at Brighid with something that seemed akin to pity in her eyes. Brighid nearly felt her temper flaring up again before she forced herself to calm down. This was no use getting upset about, even if Mythra—especially since someone like _Mythra_ couldn’t understand the turmoil of normal Blades.

“You’re powerful, but you’re still a Blade, and you only have one Driver, you know,” Mythra spoke up suddenly. Brighid slowly turned toward her, frowning at the smirk on Mythra’s face. “I still don’t know why you’re getting so hung up, to be honest—oh, shut up Pyra.” She shook her head, presumably trying to stop Pyra from talking before looking at Brighid again.

“Look, all you need to do is make the most of your time here. You’re writing in that journal of yours, right?” And, strangely, Mythra’s expression softened. “Think of it as having only one life. If it’s so important to you, then you better use up all that space, since you won’t remember the next time you wake up.”

“Mythra,” Brighid said before closing her mouth and shaking her head. Mythra… was right, as much as Brighid hated to admit it. She didn’t want to, but she was absolutely right. Brighid didn’t like it, but… it was the absolute truth, at the very end of the day.

The both of them fell silent. Mythra awkwardly shuffled her feet, no doubt wondering if it was fine for her to leave. Brighid continued to stew over their conversation, contemplating. Finally, Brighid moved, turning to look over at Mythra.

“Is this how you feel about Rex? Or…”

Mythra looked at her sharply, and even Brighid knew she had overstepped with that question. She expected Mythra to snap at her to mind her own business, but Mythra looked away from her then, up at the sky.

Mythra would never understand the turmoil of normal Blades, but there were very few that could understand the anguish of one living far too long past their time.

After a long silence that seemed to stretch as long as the sky itself, Mythra finally spoke, but Brighid thought she could hear an undercurrent of Pyra’s own voice mingling in with hers as well.

“Sometimes, it’s lucky to lose your memories.”

* * *

There were only three certainties in Brighid’s life: that she was a Blade, that Mòrag was her Driver, and that she would die when Mòrag did.

Before, when she was first awakened, she wondered why that had to be the life of a Blade. To wake up because a Driver called for her… to die when the Driver did… was that not unfair, not being able to control the circumstances of her own life?

But, now, after everything she’d gone through, if she were to ponder the same question she once asked herself at the beginning of her life...

To live after Mòrag’s death, how could she go on living without her Driver? To live _without_ her—

Even trying to imagine a life beyond Mòrag seemed impossible.

The flames at the sides of Brighid’s head flickered, a sign of her agitation. She didn’t want to think about this, right now, but given prior events, she found her thoughts constantly trailing back to it. The walk through Theosoir’s marketplace helped to calm her down, but only slightly.

When she came back to her room at the inn, Mòrag was _still_ polishing her swords. Her eyes flitted over to Brighid’s for a moment, silently acknowledging her before returning her attention back down to the swords.

“If you continue to whittle away at your swords, Lady Mòrag, you might need to draw some new ones from me soon,” Brighid said as she walked into the room. She thought to stand next to Mòrag, to coax her away from the task she’d been doing since Brighid left the room, but thought better of it, sitting at the edge of the bed closest to where Mòrag was instead.

Mòrag’s answer was a deep sigh, a shake of her head, and a hum of disapproval. It was tempting to tell her she was acting childish, but Brighid didn’t blame her.

“Lady Mòrag,” Brighid started, watching Mòrag continue to polish her swords, carefully rubbing down the metal with a towel. _Let’s retire for tonight,_ she wanted to say, but rather, what came out instead was, “May I ask you a question?”

… ah. She… hadn’t meant to say that. But before she could quickly change her mind, Mòrag at least stopped paying sole attention to her swords, slowly lifting her head to look at Brighid.

“Yes, of course, Brighid,” Mòrag answered right away. She even put her swords down on the table, to give Brighid her undivided attention. Perhaps she was seeking a distraction.

… Brighid had to take the plunge now. She swallowed, hoping it could also swallow the next question she wanted to ask, but, she pushed ahead. It’d been burning away at her, something she wanted—needed to know, and given the danger they faced earlier, Brighid wanted to confront this right now.

“If, perhaps, by some chance, I were… to… somehow return to my core crystal,” Brighid spoke slowly, the words distasteful enough that she had to force them out, but even when she heard Mòrag’s breath catching, she pushed ahead, “would you resonate with me once more?”

Mòrag inhaled sharply. She didn’t speak, and her eyes broke contact with Brighid’s, staring down at her hands. There was a frown on her face, almost a scowl, but Brighid realized she was pained even trying to think of the possibility.

“... given the dire circumstances of Alrest, then, yes, I would,” Mòrag finally answered. Brighid wanted to press ahead but Mòrag closed her eyes, and took a shuddering breath. She waited, allowing Mòrag some composure before speaking once more.

“And… how could you feel, toward me—toward her?”

“You will always be _you_ ,” Mòrag immediately said in such a firm voice, as if she was offended Brighid could say something like that. But something in her eyes simmered, and she immediately turned her head downward so Brighid could no longer gaze at her eyes. “But, if you ask if… if I could… if I would feel the same for her as I do for _you_ —”

She couldn’t finish her sentence, a choked sound coming out of her instead. The thought that Brighid could possibly perish before Mòrag had never occurred to her Driver, Brighid was soon realizing.

“... it’s almost amusing how _you_ ask me this when _I_ was the one on the verge of losing my own life,” Mòrag said in a soft voice. The memory flashed through Brighid’s mind once more, of Mòrag held by the neck by that despicable man, his weapon mere inches away from her, and the fear that gripped Brighid when she thought about how utterly helpless she had been to protect Mòrag.

It would be a memory she’d never forget, no matter how much she wanted to.

… perhaps, this was why she asked.

Brighid reached out and took one of Mòrag’s hands with both her own, cradling it. “I apologize for asking something so painful, but our journey… will only continue to grow in dangers. Know that if it ever comes down to it—”

“Brighid, you—”

And Brighid squeezed Mòrag’s hand, to force her to stop and listen to her. Mòrag closed her mouth, but the defiance remained in her. Brighid slowly opened her eyes as well, to return Mòrag’s stubborn stare with one of her own.

“I’d give my life for you, Lady Mòrag, don’t you forget it.”

And Mòrag’s shoulders slumped. She took Brighid’s hands and brought them to her cheeks, allowing Brighid to hold her face instead. She closed her eyes, letting out several deep breaths.

“... I know,” was all she said, was all she _could_ say. Brighid could be awakened, but if Mòrag were to lose her life…

Brighid didn’t even want to think about it. All the progress she had made in trying to decipher her memories, in trying to learn more about herself... even if she were to lose everything, all of it paled in comparison to Lady Mòrag’s life.

“You… would still be Brighid, but you would not… be the same one… the one who stood by my side for so long a time... “ Mòrag took a deep breath. In Brighid’s hands, she felt Mòrag’s hand clench into a fist, shaking. For all her stoicism, Mòrag was someone who always felt so deeply in what she cared for, Brighid knew.

“We’ve experienced and endured so much together, and if… if you were to lose all your memories of that… I know I sound dramatic, but...” Mòrag finally opened her eyes, looking straight at Brighid as she spoke.

“What is the point of them if we cannot remember together?”

_If the people who remember me are no longer around, then who’s to say that I ever really existed at all?_

“Lady Mòrag, I…” Brighid closed her mouth, stopping to gather her thoughts before she spoke again.

“All my old selves have experiences that are unique to only them, just as I, too, also have experiences that are unique to only myself.”

“But to know that this lifetime of experiences I have will all be forgotten… to know that no matter how much I record in my journal, the me of my future lifetimes won’t ever _truly_ understand…”

“It terrifies me,” she finished in a whisper. Mòrag’s hand started to unfurl as she released her fingers from the tight fist she’d made. Slowly, she turned her hand over, placing her palm against Brighid’s. Neither of them moved, much less seemed to breathe in that moment.

This fear… Brighid couldn’t let this take her. Mòrag was still here, the _both_ of them were still here.

But to be forgotten so easily, to lose all traces of her former self with each of her deaths, to have the people who kept her in their memories remember a different version of herself that she’d never understand…

To think that this would happen each and every single time she returned to her core crystal…

It was suffocating, knowing she would only continue this cycle. What was the use of writing in her journal if she could never remember? But did she want to be like Mythra, who remembered but had her memories causing her anguish?

“Brighid.” And she snapped out of her thoughts, realizing Mòrag was speaking and looking at her intently. “Do you believe everything we’ve experienced so far to be… irrelevant?”

“Of course not, Lady Mòrag,” Brighid said immediately with a shake of her head. “But… I still cannot help but feel…”

“You know, it was only sheer circumstance that I was able to meet you,” Mòrag spoke. Her voice was soft, and she stared down at their hands instead of meeting Brighid’s gaze. “Were it not for my father—his late Majesty, taking me in to raise as his heir, I would not have been given the privilege to resonate with you. Perhaps you might have continued to stay in your core crystal, or Niall might have been the one to wake you instead…”

Mòrag finally looked back up, and Brighid felt her breath hitching at the sincerity and open affection on her Driver’s face. “We have only one life like this. Our encounter with Torna has shown me exactly what that meant.” Mòrag’s other hand went to rub at her neck and a small flush went across her cheeks, no doubt feeling the shame once more at her rash decision to rush the Torna man.

“I… wish to keep making memories with you, Brighid. Our bond is unique, I would never replace it with anyone else. Even if you were to fall and I were to reawaken you once more, what I shared with _you_ , the Brighid _you_ are now… that is irreplaceable, to me.”

Brighid slowly opened her eyes once more that day, staring at Mòrag incredulously. Mòrag seemed taken aback, blinking when she saw Brighid’s eyes but her expression softened again and she reached down to squeeze Brighid’s hands.

“I… I hope you understand what I mean. I know I am not… particularly articulate when it comes to these type of words, but this is how I feel.”

“L-Lady Mòrag…” Brighid could feel her heart fluttering, beating even faster than a time she could remember it doing. To hear Mòrag speak so honestly, and freely, so… earnestly as she had done here, Brighid didn’t know when was the last time Mòrag had done so. For all her clumsy words, Brighid felt each one reverberate deep within inside of her.

“... I feel the same,” Brighid said, almost breathlessly. “I will not remember everything in this life once I lose it, but I want to record it all… I want to experience everything here. I want my future selves to see what _I_ thought was important. Read what _I_ felt in this lifetime…”

Brighid shook her head. “I still want to understand everything there is to myself. But I want to keep making memories in this life—I _need_ to keep making memories. I cannot… I cannot let myself dwell on the past, or on circumstances in the future that are beyond my control. I… I cannot, I _will_ not.”

Mòrag squeezed her hands again, and Brighid squeezed back. She took one of Mòrag’s hands afterward and lifted it up, pressing her lips to Mòrag’s knuckles.

“Oh?” Mòrag sounded amused, but when Brighid looked up at her, Mòrag’s cheeks held a pink tinge across them. No doubt she was trying to rein in her embarrassment, Brighid knew.

“For helping me understand, Lady Mòrag,” Brighid said, smile tugging at the edges of her lips, “and for being honest with me.”

There were only few certainties that Brighid knew right now in her current life: that she was a Blade, that Mòrag was her Driver, and that she would perish once Mòrag did.

… and that she would need a second volume to her journal once she finished with this lifetime.


End file.
